The Postman

A Charles Splints Case by Dan Leicht

The gun went off before I heard the door close.

I was in the aisle furthest from the register. I got an angle on the shooter, a young kid probably still in school, He had a pistol leveled at the cashier.

I slipped my gun from its holster and held it straight out.

“Drop it,” I said.

He turned his attention to me. His arm was shaking.

“Don’t be a hero,” he said. “I need money. I can’t leave without the money.”

He turned back to the cashier, Ted Smith. Smith had worked at Rally’s Convenience for nearly thirty years. He’d taken the job after getting laid off from a corporate gig and decided the slower pace suited him better.

“Open the safe,” said the kid. “You have a safe, don’t you? Empty it into this bag.”

He pulled a crumpled plastic bag from his back pocket and dropped it on the counter.

Smith looked at me for direction. I nodded. I knew he’d have to go into the back office to open the safe.

Smith took the bag and left.

“Just you and me,” I said. “That wasn’t too smart.”

“What’re you talking about? I said don’t be a hero.”

The shake in his arm was getting more noticeable.

“Heavy, isn’t it? I can tell you’re not used to holding one of those. Did you lift it off your old man? Pull it from the desk in his home office?”

“It’s mine.”

“Sure it is. You can’t hold it up like that for much longer. You came in strong with that hole you shot in the ceiling, but I think that gesture took all the gumption you had left. Let’s say we talk this out?”

He pulled the hammer pack. Useless since he’d already fired, but I understood the gesture.

“I can’t leave without the money,” he said.

“Why? You’ll get maybe a thousand dollars. What’ll that get you?”

“What does it matter? This place is insured. They’ll get the money back. It doesn’t matter to them.”

“You must be new to the city,” I said. “There’s no insurance. People scrape by in Brooksend. You leave with that bag and Ted doesn’t eat. His rent doesn’t get paid. How’s that fair?”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Getting heavy, isn’t it?”

He brought up his left hand to help brace the gun and keep it raised.

“I need the money,” he said. “He won’t let her go without the money.”

“Lay it out for me and maybe I can help.”

“You won’t under—”

Two uniformed cops came in from the front door. The kid was outnumbered. He dropped his head and lowered the gun.

I caught up to one of the officers as the kid sat in the backseat.

“Mind if I have a word with him?”

The officer shrugged.

“I’ll need the window lowered.” 

I leaned against the car, staring at the convenience store as I spoke. I’d overheard the cops asking questions and he gave them his name.

“You won’t be able to do much from jail, Sam,” I said.

“She’s doomed.”

He sobbed and I prodded for more information.

“Who is ‘she’,” I said.

“My girlfriend,” he said. “Mack took her. Said he wanted to keep her for collateral until I could pay him back. How messed up is that?”

“Mack. Wouldn’t happened to be Mack Lawrence, would it?”

“You know him?”

“We’ve crossed paths,” I said. “So, you took a loan from Lawrence and now you’re in debt.”

“And I would’ve been out of debt if not for you.”

“Sure, kid. Lawrence would’ve kept you on a leash had you pulled this job off. He may have released your girl, sure, but he’d know you could pull another job and bring him even more money if he claimed it wasn’t enough. The interest builds, and next thing you know you’re pulling jobs for the rest of your life.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I can’t save her.”

“I’ll get her back.”

“You will?”

“What’s her name?” 

***

I stopped at Duke’s and found a seat at the bar. Lindsay walked over with my bottom shelf scotch.

“Thanks,” I said. “I need your phone, too.”

She placed her phone on the bar. I picked it up and unlocked it with her password.

“Calling Detective Martinez?”

“Not this time,” I said. “I need to call one of the high schools.”

“Hoping a coaching gig opened up? I could see you coaching football.”

“What would I do with all of that money?” I said. “Not this time. I’m checking to see if a certain student showed up today.”

The phone rang. I sipped my drink. A woman answered and said her name was Maude. I gave my spiel.

“I’m wondering if a senior by the name Sara Jones came in today. Are you able to check attendance?”

“Are you a parent or guardian?”

“Uncle,” I said.

“I can pull up her class schedule. I’d have to go to the room to check in person…”

I took that pause as her way of saying she wanted me to tell her that wouldn’t be necessary, but I wasn’t going to.

“I’d appreciate it,” I said. “Her father thinks she may have skipped today. He passed this little errand along to me since I’m her favorite uncle.”

“She’s history.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s in history right now. Can you hold?”

“Certainly.”

I sat on the phone for five minutes listening to what I assumed was the school’s marching band. Five minutes for me and an eternity for Maude.

“Hello?”

“I’m still here,” I said.

“She’s in class. Will that be all?”

“She is? Good. That’s great. Thanks, Maude.”

She hung up without another word.

Lindsay refilled my glass.

“What’s the story?”

I told her between sips.

“So, Lawrence lied?”

I nodded.

“He wanted leverage over Sam. It was a simple lie and Sam bought it. Clever. Lawrence knew Sam would be desperate.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to leave this alone?”

“Lawrence will still want his money,” I said. “Sam won’t be able to get it any time soon, if ever. I’m worried Lawrence might do something stupid.”

“Like actually take Sara?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“You’re going to save someone before they’re even in trouble?”

“I’m going to try. She probably has no idea what’s happening. In the end, I’m doing this for Sam. He’ll have enough problems to keep him busy. I better fill in Detective Martinez at BCPD about my little plan.”

“Just make sure I get my phone back when you’re done.” 

***

I asked around and learned that Lawrence operated out of an office above a dance studio. Inconspicuous.

I entered the studio during practice. Six ballerinas glared at me.

“Excuse you,” said a woman dressed in a black leotard. “We have this space rented until five. Could you please leave?”

“I’m here to see a friend,” I said. “Is there an elevator?”

“What would you need an elevator for? There’s no one upstairs.”

“That’s what he wants you to think. Sorry for the interruption. I’ll be on my way.”

There wasn’t an elevator. I took the stairs. The upstairs consisted of a hallway with two rooms on either side. Lawrence had commandeered one of them for an office, but I wasn’t sure which.

I knocked on the first door. No answer. Second. No answer. No one answered the third or fourth either.

I tried the handles. All locked.

I stretched. After feeling limber enough, I kicked in the first door.

A man sporting a goatee and dressed like he’d just left a funeral sat behind a desk. Another man stood by the window, gun drawn. I walked in and took a seat across from the desk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” said the man in the funeral suit.

“I knocked,” I said. “You’re car’s warranty is about to expire.”

“Funny. Are you going to fix that door?”

“I’m not much of a handyman,” I said. “I’m here about Sam Chesterton.”

“You his old man?”

I’d found Lawrence.

“Something like that,” I said. “I want you to leave him alone.”

“Is that right?”

“He won’t be able to pay you back. Right now, he’s probably being interrogated about why he tried to rob a convenience store at gunpoint.”

“The kid actually went for it? See, Marty? I told you he’d fall for it. Listen…”

“Splints.”

“Oh… I know you. Charles Splints. Private dick and thorn in the side of everyone in Brooksend.”

“Only those who deserve to get pricked,” I said.

“What do I get if I leave him alone? The kid owes me three grand. Are you footing the bill?”

“I won’t blow up your spot,” I said. “I also won’t tell the cops you were planning to kidnap a high school student.”

“It was a made-up job to get the kid to listen,” said Lawrence. “We didn’t kidnap anybody.”

“That’s not the way I see it. I can take my story to my detective pal on the BCPD and see what he thinks. Sam is probably blabbing away right now. I’ll back up his story and tell the police you still plan to take her. It’d be a real shame if you missed your recital.”

“This is your play? Blackmail?”

“Just call me the Postman.”

“I thought you were one of the good guys. Don’t the good guys play nice?”

“I’m not here to play cops and robbers,” I said. “Do we have a deal? Three grand doesn’t seem worth the trouble.”

“Lower your gun, Marty.”

Lawrence stretched his hand across the desk. I shook it.

I got up to leave and Lawrence cleared his throat.

“Watch your back, Splints,” he said.

“I always do.”

---

Bio: Dan Leicht is a mystery author living in Upstate New York with his wife Barbara and their mischievous tortie cat. He has a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing from SUNY Brockport. His hardboiled detective Charles Splints has appeared in Black Cat Weekly and Crimeucopia. You can find more of his stories in Sci-fi Shorts, 365 Tomorrows, Micromance Magazine, and Ripples in Space.

He can be found at the following places:
Instagram: www.instagram.com/danleicht
Substack: danleicht.substack.com
Medium: medium.com/@danleicht
Facebook: www.facebook.com/DanLeichtAuthor
Website: danleicht.com
Patreon: patreon.com/cw/danleicht

Cover photo by: pexels

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